


The Hardest Part of All

by rileywrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: ...is that we're always meant to fall.They never said what they had was anything more than sex. Derek learns just how much of a mistake that was.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 359





	The Hardest Part of All

**Author's Note:**

> Nebulous future au is nebulous. Written to "Easier" by 5 Seconds of Summer on repeat.
> 
> ETA: Sorry, the last like 5 lines got cut off before I posted.

Stiles comes home from Quantico truly comfortable in his own skin for the first time since... well, for the first time since Derek has known him.

He's visibly stronger, broader, more settled in his mannerisms, and Derek allows himself to look.

He likes what he finds.

The first night they collide, it's two days before Stiles leaves for the Sacramento field office.

"I've dreamed of this for years," Stiles says between searing kisses, pinning Derek to the bed. "Pinch me."

Derek follows orders, firmly pinching one of Stiles' nipples and relishing the response it gets.

They don't talk much past that. They don't have to.

...

From that point forward, whenever Stiles is in town between cases, he usually ends up between Derek's legs at least once, and often spends days on end at the loft, just existing in the same space.

It is as easy as breathing.

Until it isn't.

...

**From Stiles: You home?**

Derek's response is immediate.

**To Stiles: Yes.**

**From Stiles: Alone?**

Derek's pulse rabbits at the implication.

**To Stiles: Yes.**

**From Stiles: Ten minutes.**

That gives Derek exactly nine minutes to shower and make sure the bed is at least passable. Stiles' key clicks in the lock precisely ten minutes later.

Derek finds himself pinned to the couch, Stiles' hands on his hips, kiss drunk and foggy and happy as hell.

"You smell awful," he rumbles as Stiles kisses his neck.

Gunpowder and stress and blood and exhaustion and at least two days in a row without a shower, with an irritating layer of strangers on top.

"Do something about it then." Stiles steps back long enough to get his holster off before Derek starts to undress him.

"Put the gun up, and I'll blow you in the shower."

...

Stiles sleeps like the dead, sated and exhausted and finally smelling right again. Derek insists on being the big spoon for as long as he can, before Stiles' chaotic sleep patterns ruin it.

He's gotten good at moving to accommodate long, surprisingly muscular limbs.

He wakes to those limbs wriggling around to shut off the alarm, crawling out of bed and opening the curtains.

"It's too fucking early," Derek griped.

"I've got to be in Sacramento by ten."

"That's almost a 3 hour drive from here. Can't they just call you?" Derek grabs the discarded pillow to fill the hole in his arms.

"I have to actually be at the office for this, so no." Stiles touches the sensors on the safe to pull out his gun and badge. "I really wish I could stay longer."

Derek closes his eyes, and the next time he reluctantly opens them Stiles is back to looking FBI-official in his white shirt and black tie.

"You look like a g-man," Derek sleepily observes.

"I am a g-man," Stiles says, his smile soft. "You not getting up to say goodbye?"

Derek holds a hand out. "You can come to me. I let you sleep in my very comfy bed after a blow job in my heavenly shower."

"True. I have to thank my host." Stiles bends down for a quick kiss. "I'll be back eventually. Not sure how long this time."

"Be safe."

"Always am."

...

Derek is elbow deep in the bowels of the Camaro when Stiles appears again two months later. Stiles walks up, black dress shoes clicking on the pavement.

"Hey."

"Hey," Derek tells his ankles. "You remembered the code to the garage?"

"The code is your birthday, which is also goddamn Christmas, you fucking boomer. Of course I remembered." Stiles crouches so they can make eye contact. "How much longer are you going to be?"

"Fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. Rough case?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Yes. "I'm going to go on upstairs, take a shower. I'll be ready when you are."

If Derek bangs his head on the underside of the car in his haste to get done, that's between him and the drip pan.

Sure enough, by the time he gets upstairs, Stiles is naked in his bed. He's also sound asleep, mouth open and one hand reaching for Derek's side of the bed.

(When did they start having sides? Was that before or after Derek installed the bedside safe? Which came first, the sides or the dresser drawer?)

Derek takes his time in the shower. When Stiles is still asleep after, Derek starts on dinner. The meatloaf is in the oven and the potatoes are boiled by the time Stiles reappears, wrapped in Derek's spare robe.

"Trafficking. It was human trafficking this time."

Derek holds his arms out, and Stiles melts into the embrace.

"I've got a week off, and the only thing I have to do is call my therapist every day," he mumbles into Derek's chest.

"Stay here. You know you're always welcome."

"I know." And his scent is still stressed and sad and pensive, but it shifts to something more relaxed. "Thank you."

Stiles spends the week at the loft, barely leaving unless he's going to see the Noah and Melissa. The pack comes and goes, but - thank whoever may be listening - no one pushes.

Derek is afraid that if anyone pushes the issue, Stiles is going to fall apart.

They fall into the usual comfortable routine for when Stiles is - Derek has to stop himself from thinking "home." Their routine for when Stiles is staying over.

Wake up, breakfast, Derek goes to work writing in the spare bedroom-turned-office, and Stiles works or naps or whatever downstairs. Then lunch, more work (or a nap, or a make-out session, or...), dinner, and hanging out before bed.

It feels right.

It's a dangerous feeling.

When Stiles leaves, Derek feels the usual hole in his life, but the edges are raw. This departure feels like... more.

...

**From Stiles: I won't be home for Christmas, I'm sorry.**

**To Stiles: That's fine. I hope you have a good holiday.**

**From Stiles: Happy Birthday-mas Derek**

...

**To Stiles: Hey, no one has heard from you in a while. Are you good?**

**To Stiles: If you're undercover, please have someone tell your dad.**

...

Derek doesn't hear from Stiles until June. Even then, the texts are few and far between.

The next time Stiles comes to Beacon Hills, it's with a boyfriend.

The pack doesn't ask why Derek doesn't join them at dinner.

...

The door slides open. Stiles isn't trying to be subtle.

"Derek."

"You don't owe me an explanation," Derek says without looking up from his book. "I'm glad he makes you happy. That's all I ever want."

"Derek."

Derek is trying not to smell anything, not to drink in the familiar Stiles scent wrapped up in the stranger's (Finn, Noah said. The man's name is Finn).

"It's fine," Derek looks up finally, to see the confusion and pain writ large across Stiles' face. "I just want the people I love to be happy. Does he make you happy?"

"He does." It isn't a lie. "Will you be happy?"

"I have everything I need here. I'll be fine." It's almost not a lie. "If you need your stuff back, it's in a bag in the study."

"Right. Right, of course. That's... god, how much have I left here?"

"Clothes. Tooth brush. Pillow. Couple of other things."

"Can you hold onto it for now? Or... or give it to Dad, if that's too much? I like having things in Beacon Hills, just in case."

"Sure. I can do that." Derek packed it all up weeks ago, because the toothbrush was taunting him and he kept having to talk himself out of wearing Stiles' hoodie. "It can stay."

"Thank you. I should-"

"You should go. It's easier if you just go."

"Right."

Derek loves him so much he hates him right now, and it only took Stiles five years to figure it out.

...

Derek goes out with a guy from Erica's work. He's nice, this Tim person, square jaw and strong hands and tan skin and curly black hair. He's handsome, and kind, and very aware that Derek has his mind somewhere else.

"Who is he?" Tim asks, giving up on small talk.

"He's my best friend in the world, who hasn't talked to me in two months." Derek downs his beer and wishes it worked on him. "He has a boyfriend."

"A boyfriend who isn't you, but I take it you want it to be."

Derek ends up spilling the whole sordid tale to Tim, poor, innocent, financial analyst Tim, who takes it in stride.

"So you were in a relationship without acknowledging it, catching too many feelings for it to stay Friends with Benefits."

"It was easier not to talk about it," Derek says defensively.

"Was it?" A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arch pins Derek to his seat. "Was it really easier to watch him go?"

Derek doesn't respond.

They get to the end of their meal, talking about life and work and Stiles and Tim's ex Nathan and all kinds of things. Derek realizes it's been a long fucking time since he had a friend who isn't part of the supernatural world.

They're only two blocks away from the loft, so Derek invites Tim over for a platonic nightcap.

Stiles standing in front of the loft door when they walk up.

"I'm guessing this is Stiles?" Tim says, not backing down when Stiles glares. Derek is impressed. "I'll just head out, then. Have a nice night, Derek."

He leans in for a quick hug and whispers "communicate" before disappearing so swiftly Derek wonders if he isn't human after all.

"You have a key," Derek says.

"He seems nice," Stiles says at the same time.

"He is nice." Derek unlocks the door. "Why didn't you use the key?"

"It didn't feel right. I didn't know if you were going to want me here."

I always want you here.

"What about Finn?" Derek loosens his tie further and goes to pour himself a drink that will affect him.

"We broke up. It wasn't pretty."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Derek asks, praying the answer is no.

"No. I wanted to see you."

"Here I am."

Stiles finally shrugs off his suit jacket and loosens his tie.

"Here you are. Home from a date with...?" Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and fails to look nonchalant.

"Tim. He works with Erica down at the firm."

"Hm."

This is the most awkward they've been since Stiles accused him of murder a decade ago.

"Did you come to get your stuff?" It's petty, and it's mean, but Derek can't help it.

"No, I came to..." Stiles scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't even know. Apologize?"

Derek pours a second shot of witch's brew, downs them both.

"You don't owe me an apology. We never said we were anything exclusive." True, Derek stopped dating years ago, and his world revolves around Stiles any time he's home, and losing that is like a physical wound, but none of that is Stiles' fault."You're allowed to have relationships."

"It was a mistake. He was a mistake, and it's my fault that you're hurt." Stiles steps closer, gently eases the bottle out of Derek's hand. "It was foolish of me to assume you'd be here waiting when I finally got my shit together."

Derek would wait forever. His love for Stiles was never going to change.

"Tim is the first person I've been on a date with since you went to Sacramento," he admits gruffly. "It was only to make Erica happy. I think I got a friend out of it."

"Since... Derek, that was almost six years ago."

"I know."

"I'm a fucking idiot."

That warrants a smile. "I know."

"I'm sorry, and don't you dare say I know." Stiles hesitantly closes what's left of the gap. "I really want to kiss you."

Derek nods, and the kiss is soft, sweet.

"I love you," Derek whispers.

"I know," Stiles whispers back. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out that I love you too."


End file.
